Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 116547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116547 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 466(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
“Goldsmith would be dismayed at how you butchered his words.” Damon snickered.
“Of all the novelists you would remember, it would be Goldsmith,” his father responded. “And both of you should know the true originator of the phrase was none other than Sir John Mennes in 1641…”
“Are you enjoying yourself?” Silva asked me gently, as the marquess went on with his lecture. When I did not answer, she leaned in, whispering, “They can be a bit overwhelming with all their familiarity, can they not?”
“Are you not part of them now?” I asked in turn.
“In a way, but I would be lying if I said I did not find myself often flustered by their antics. Sometimes it is as though a great play is unfolding before my very eyes, and all I can do is observe,” she replied, allowing me into a conversation I could actually engage in. “Forgive them, they do not realize it can be overbearing.”
I was glad I was not the only one who felt that way. I glanced around at the décor, wishing to find something to change the subject, when I saw the doors open, and in walked Dr. Darrington. His face, however, was now…grim, his jaw tensed and shoulders back. I had only made his acquaintance once before, due to my brother, and he had been rather terse and abrupt with me. However, he had never held that expression.
“Verity?” Silva called.
“Hmm?” I tore my eyes away to look at her.
She smiled as she raised her eyebrow. “Which gentleman has caught your eye?”
“No one!” I gasped almost too loudly, which only made her more suspicious. “Truly, no one. I have no plans whatsoever to engage in that…”
My voice trailed off as I saw him approach us, along with two men, one older and the other around his own age.
“Marquess, there you are!” said the older man with rather fierce-looking strips of hair grown on each side of his face despite the fact that he was balding at the center of his head. Hathor’s, Damon’s, and the marquess’s demeanors changed as they reached us.
“Lord Fancot.” The marquess nodded to him, and once more, I saw Dr. Darrington looking at me, but when our eyes met, he averted his gaze, focusing once more on Lord Monthermer.
“You remember my son, Henry.” Lord Fancot stepped to the side to present his son, who was tall and burly, with thick, curly black hair, deep black skin, and a bright, charming smile. Lord Fancot glanced at Hathor as he spoke of his son.
“Yes, of course. Your father goes on and on about your many business exploits in the Americas last year,” the marquess replied, shaking the younger man’s hand before looking to his own son. “Damon, you recall he was your junior at Eton.”
“Ah,” Damon replied, clearly not at all recalling him. “I do hope you and all of your family are well.”
“Very well, most well outside of a few missing hair strands.” Lord Fancot chuckled, patting his own head. “And trying to marry this one off, of course. He never seems to wish to remain in one place. If you blink, he may very well be in India next, but a good wife would surely—”
“Dr. Darrington?” Damon interrupted, finally acknowledging the man standing quietly behind them both. “It has been a while. How are you?”
“Very well, my lord, and you?” Dr. Darrington replied, taking Damon’s hand to shake. His voice was calm and flat. Not in the least bit moved at their presence.
“A friend of yours, Damon?” The marchioness had quickly found her place at her husband’s side once more.
“Merely an acquaintance, your ladyship. Your son and I were fortunate to meet through the Duke of Everely.”
At the mention of my brother, both the marchioness and Hathor glanced at me. I did not know if I was meant to speak up, but luckily, Damon once again did.
“Yes, Mother, he all but saved Evander’s life.”
“By heavens!” the marchioness exclaimed, her eyes wide.
“My lord exaggerates. I merely—”
“I would not doubt it in the least!” Lord Fancot loudly interjected as he placed his hand on Dr. Darrington’s shoulder. “Charles, this is the doctor I was speaking of. The genius of Oxford!”
“Genius,” I spoke out, causing his hazel eyes to meet mine.
“You were the one admitted at the mere age of fifteen?” The marquess stepped forward with a grin on his face.
“Fifteen?” Damon gasped, then looked him up and down.
“Yes, however—”
“I tell you, he left all his professors dumbfounded,” Lord Fancot interjected. “Arithmetic, science, all the classics, English, French, Dutch, German. He can even read Sanskrit. Where does one even begin to find Sanskrit to learn? I do not know, but he did!”
“Extraordinary. Absolutely extraordinary,” the marquess replied as he looked upon Dr. Darrington. Even I was beyond stunned at this.
“What is your age at present?” The marchioness leaned her ear in to listen.